Negative Eight
by Princess Zombie
Summary: John is having some trouble in math; Bobby tutors him.


1Prompt: None

Pairing: Bobby/John X-Men movieverse

Rating: R

Notes: I know the math, even if John did it right, wouldn't work out, at least I think. I couldn't formulate it in my head well enough for it to work, because I have trouble with math too. So bear with me and pretend it works.

Warnings: John's mind is upset and feels the need to drop the f-bomb times.

-----

"God fucking dammit!" John yelled in the middle of class, causing everyone around him to stop their conversations to look at him. Warren walked over to him,

"You okay?"

"No." John stated plainly. The professor had forbid him from taking his lighter to class anymore, Bobby had just started dating rogue, and he, no kidding, god damned fucking LOATHED math. The only thing that made his math class even remotely bearable, was that Banshee taught it, and he was a forgiving teacher. He sighed this time though, and John could understand why. His outbursts in class were becoming more frequent, and while he could tutor half of the teaches in English, he had trouble with basic operations. How was he supposed to know how to subtract a fucking negative! A negative is already subtracted, It seemed obsolete to subtract it again. So if he had negative eight and he was subtracting negative eight, wasn't the answer negative sixteen? It just didn't make sense. And if the answer was supposed to come out whole, how come he kept getting negative sixteen thirds! It was stupid and made no sense at all.

"John, why don't you take your work and go in the hall and finish this sheet? It'll be less distracting."

John irritatedly stood up and grabbed the yellow worksheet and pen, crumpling the paper in his hand, unintentionally, but enjoying it nonetheless. He closed the classroom door behind him a slumped down with his back on the wall, then stared at thee worksheet. Why would he EVER need to know how to add matrices. They were stupid looking and made no sense to him as he studied the page tensely. So to add two matrices together, you added the matching numbers together. He understood that, and then you took the answer and divided it by three. Banshee had said there were no fractions or decimals for answers. Negative eight minus negative eight, negative sixteen. Five minus eight, negative three. Eight minus five, three. Negative six minus three, negative three. Negative sixteen divided by three, negative sixteen thirds or negative four and two thirds. It was a fraction, a mixed number, and somehow it could be converted to a decimal. But it was definitely not a whole number.

Try again. John shook his head at the first problem and switched over to the next. Multiplication. Multiply the matrix by negative eight, and subtract the other matrix multiplied by two. It seemed easy enough. Negative eight times negative eight, Negative sixty-four. Negative eight times... he heard footsteps... negative eight... they were getting chatty in the classroom again... negative eight... Banshee said something loudly... negative something...

It was happening again. The paper was in plain view, John knew to multiply negative eight by the next number, so why could he manage to think though it to get the next number. Negative eight... the footsteps were closer... negative eight... he could see a figure nearing him... negative eight times... "Hey John." he looked up

"Hi, Bobby."

"What're you doing in the hall?"

"Trying to figure out this fucking matrix and why negative sixteen doesn't divide by three. Negative eight had been forgotten, John felt like snapping his pencil in half.

"This one?" John snapped his head up, he had gotten lost thinking about negative sixteen. Bobby was pointing to a problem on the paper. John sighed and nodded, then Bobby looked up for a moment, "The professor wants me, maybe I can help you later?" He offered with a light smile and John scowled, fucking negative sixteen.\

Bobby was gone. Negative sixteen... no, negative eight... what about negative eight? Oh, multiply it... Negative eight times five... negative eight times five... what time is it? Negative eight times... times what? Negative eight times five... God when does this class end? Negative eight... "John, come on back in, we're gonna go over it."... fucking negative eight.

John didn't get anything right on his worksheet. AS Banshee sat at the overhead, asking how many the class had gotten right, John was the only one that didn't raise his hand for a passing grade, and thought he wouldn't want to admit it, he was embarrassed and sunk lower in his seat. Everyone was complaining how they had done this two years ago, in Algebra I and Geometry, but now in Algebra II, John couldn't add fucking negative eight to fucking negative eight. He rubbed his forehead as the class was dismissed, He stood and put his folder and pencil in his bookbag, walking up to the Professor to get his lighter.

"John." It was that disappointed sigh, the one the teacher expelled before that said, 'If only he would apply himself...' He didn't want to hear this. 

"Can I just have my lighter and go?" He groaned, holding out his hand expectantly. He received a stern look as the professor went on,

"I'm going to give you some extra work I'd like you to bring me tomorrow. Why don't you ask Bobby to help you with it? There's a test tomorrow and I think you can pass if you just throw in some extra practice." He offered as he put a two or three paged packet on the desk along with John's Zippo and exited the classroom. John glared down at the paper and picked up only his lighter, leaving the packet behind. Fucking negative eight.

John stretched on his bed and kicked off his shoes, he had nearly fallen asleep when he heard the door latch, and pushed himself up, then flipping over to a sitting position,

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Bobby asked, taking off his own shoes a tossing a packet of white paper on their shared desk. John shook his head and yawned lazily as Bobby motioned for him to get up and he did so, standing and facing bobby with a vague smile. He was feeling a bit better. "Sit." Bobby said with his usual innocence, walking over to the desk and pulling the chair out for John. John meandered over slowly and plopped down in the chair, tilting his head back to look a Bobby who handed him a pencil and pointed to the packet John had refused to take from Banshee. The younger mutant glanced at the familiar paper and made to get up again, but was grabbed by the shoulder and pulled back down,

"Jesus, Bobby."

"Why didn't you tell me you were failing Algebra.?"

"Because you're not failing AP Lit."

"What?"

"I'm good at English; You're good at math. That's the way it is. Now you're doing fine in AP Lit and I'm Failing Algebra."

"Oh." Bobby crossed his arms, "You think this is about being better than you?" He asked in a way that was much like a girl saying 'Are you breaking up with me!' he shook his head. "John, you're teaching Shakespearean Literature next Year, and I'll be teaching Calculus. I'm not helping you learn this so that you'll feel stupid!" Bobby continued in that same tone. John sighed, studying the pencil.

"What's negative eight minus negative eight?"

"Zero." Bobby said, making a face.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Not negative sixteen?"

"No."

"Oh." Bobby smiled Knowingly,

"John, I know you're smarter than you play off to be."

"I can't even subtract fucking negative eight from fucking negative eight." John growled. Bobby pushed the chair close to the desk, leaning over John's shoulder as he grabbed a piece of notebook paper from the drawer.

"It's an easy mistake, John."

"They teach us how to do negatives and plosives in sixth grade."

"But, look. You just got confused." Bobby held John's hand with the pencil in it, guiding him to write 'Negative eight minus negative eight.'He smiled, trying to explain int in terms of language he said, "It's like a double negative. Minus and negative are both negative words, so when someone uses a double negative, it turns into a positive. SO you're actually adding. So..." Bobby crossed out the minus and negative in the middle of the sentence and under it write 'Negative eight plus eight.' slowly, "So It's actually zero, because a double negative is really a positive, right?" John smiled vaguely.

"Yeah, I think so. What about adding?"

"Like four plus negative six?"

"Yeah."

"Well, addition is a communicable property. Like if you ass one to two or if you ass two to one, it's the same either way. So If it helps you understand, you just switch it around. Negative six plus four."

"Negative two."

"Exactly."

-----

Surprisingly enough, the professor had actually stood up for John when he said that listening to his iPod would help him concentrate. It helped him block out the chatty distractions of his peers, spare noises drifting in from outside or the danger room just below them. So John worked slowly, and the class remained silent. For the whole hour an a half John worked, even if the rest of the class had finished much longer before. The bell rang and John stood up.

"How'd you do?" Banshee asked him, smiling slightly.

"I didn't get to the last few problems"

"You know the policy, you can have as much time as you want, and If you don't finish, I'll curve it."

"Thank you."

"Why don't I grade it for you now, I'll give you a pass for your next class."

"Sure." John said, trying to hide the extreme relief he got from knowing how well he did. John stood in awkward silence after he packed up his bookbag and waited anxiously. When Banshee looked up and smiled,

"Congrats."

"Why?" The paper was turned around before him and a sharp 100 was written at the top in bright red ink. John stared in disbelief.

"John, I think I'm going to talk to the professor and have you switched over to independent study. There's a lot of distractions in the classroom bothering you, so Instead of coming to my class, I'll give you assignments to complete for me each day."

"I guess." John said, feigning indifference and taking the test and leaving to thank Bobby.

-----

He found the more numerically adept mutant in their shared dorm, sitting at the desk wiring something boredly. Apparently thankful for the distraction, he spun around and looked at John happily,

"So?" Came the offer with a raised eyebrow and John smiled, dropping his bookbag, Jacket, and removing his shoes quickly.

"Oh, I did fine. Thanks." He said, sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, test still in hand. Bobby stood and walked over tot he bed, sitting close to John so that they were right up against each other. John faked a yawn and put his arm over Bobby's shoulders, and the two laughed vacantly as Bobby gabbed the paper and appraised it. He was silent for what seemed like a long period of time. Then, out of nowhere, Bobby was on top of John, kissing him.

"That's just fantastic." Came the muttered words between kisses. John glanced tot he door, Rogue had been known to enter without knocking.

"Bobby, the door." John managed to get out as Bobby unbuttoned his shirt

"'s Closed." He said, going for John's throat. John wondered why acing a math test made Bobby this happy.

"What about your girlfriend?" John asked, tugging at the Bottom of Bobby's tee, which he quickly slipped out of. "Ah..." John whimpered slightly as Bobby went for one of his nipples.

"Let her see." John was sure he blushed all over, but managed to flip Bobby over onto his back in the process, smirking.

"What do you say I thank you properly?" John added, bending down to Bobby's collarbone, determined to leave a mark, even though Bobby had told him many times before not to.

"Sure." Bobby said, stifling a moan, suddenly wishing his neck wasn't that sensitive.

John worked his way down Bobby's chest, making sure he paid plenty of attention to the older's nipples before moving down to the muscle on his stomach, carefully tracing it with warm fingers. Bobby's oppositely cold fingers gently wove into John's hair, egging him on as he moved even lower, opening Bobby's jeans as slowly as he could, feeling that the excruciatingly slow torture was necessary.

"John, _please_." Bobby begged, pushing his up to John's hands. John pulled Bobby's jeans down and off the other's ankles, tossing the jeans to the floor and slipping his hand just inside Bobby's boxers and pulling them down carefully as well. AS he moved up to kiss the ice mutant passionately, he found himself being flipped over, his open button down still draped over his shoulders. Bobby, straddling the smaller smiled, and decided it could stay as he removed John's jeans and boxers much more quickly, wrapping his cold fingers around John's already hard cock. John hissed a writhed slightly beneath him, smiling nonetheless.

"God, you're cold." Bobby was satisfied by the reaction and leaned forward, opening the bedside drawer, grabbing a condom and lube. He tore open the condom with his teeth and free hand and, straddling John's thighs, the put the condom on the younger slowly, then lubed up John's cock before moving back to straddle the younger's stomach. John reached up and pulled Bobby into a passionate kiss, forcing his tongue into Bobby's mouth to assert his dominance before Bobby pulled away, shaking his head, then whispered, "This is not about me being better than you." affectionately. He prepared himself, stretching with one, two, then three fingers, smiling in his own pleasure, causing John to frown and pull Bobby's hand away, flipping them for a third time.

John let himself relax, showing that smile that he could only give to Bobby. It was exclusive, and it was because of fucking negative eight.

He backed up and lifted one of Bobby's ankles up to his shoulder as bobby wrapped the other around his waist, causing John to jump. Unlike Bobby, his sides were sensitive and very ticklish, the clod of Bobby's skin wasn't doing it any favors either. AS john slowly pushed his cock into Bobby, using his hand to give Bobby's cock some attention of it's own, he hoped that Bobby wasn't in too much pain.

"Iceman!" No, It wasn't John, It wasn't Rogue, Jean, Summers, Monroe, The Professor. It was Wolverine.

Bobby pulled away from John so fast, John ended up in a naked heap on the floor, "Shit..." Bobby was putting his clothes on and John at least managed to put on his boxers as he sat on the floor, dumbfounded. Wolverine had turned away and left the room, so John got up and sat down on his bed. "Fuck." Bobby shot him an apologetic glance and rushed into the hallway.

John collapsed on his bed, the got up and made for the shower. He was already creating a list for the next time:

1. DO NOT, By ANY MEANS, understand Algebra II. Don't even try.

2. Ace the test.

3. Lock the Goddamn fucking door.


End file.
